imposter syndrome.

The human woke up in the cave, his body aching from the rough ground beneath him. The light of dawn seeped through the entrance, casting faint shadows on the walls. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess, but something gnawed at him—an unease, as if he'd woken up in a place he barely recognized. He stretched, trying to shake off the stiffness, but the cold air clung to him, making his muscles feel taut and sluggish.

He crawled out from the cave, scanning the area outside. The familiar trees of Crabtree's wilderness loomed around him, but something felt off, like the air was heavier, as if the forest was holding its breath. He crept along the edge of the woods, sticking to the shadows as his eyes honed in on the distant town—Crabtree, or at least, something that resembled it. The buildings were familiar yet skewed, old shops and homes standing like relics of a time he couldn't quite remember clearly. His instincts screamed at him to avoid the main roads.

As he crept closer, darting behind trees, a McDonald's sign caught his eye. It stood tall above a cluster of shops, its neon lights flickering. The sight jarred him—it was something so mundane, yet surreal in this twisted version of Crabtree. His stomach growled, but he shook off the thought, staying low as he crossed an empty street and crouched behind a rusty car. The alleyways ahead were littered with old newspapers, their headlines speaking of war abroad, economic downturns, and rising inflation. He darted to a nearby window of a pizzeria. Through the glass, he could see a family huddled around a small, old TV, the static barely clearing the image of a news anchor reporting on political unrest and supply shortages.

"Have you heard about more job losses at the factory?" a man's voice drifted through an open window of the pizza place. "Everyone's getting laid off left and right. Town's bleeding jobs. We're barely scraping by as it is."

"I don't know how we're gonna make it," another voice joined in. "And now with the talk of moving families into those social housing projects… You know what happens there, right?"

The human lingered outside, the pieces slowly falling into place. This wasn't just some twisted alternate world—it was familiar. Too familiar.

Sneaking around the back of a hardware store, he peeked through a cracked window. A group of old-timers were sitting inside, chatting over coffee. One of them, an elderly man with a weathered face, shook his head.

"I've been here my whole life, and I've never seen it this bad. It's like we're livin' in the Great Depression all over again. Except this time, it's worldwide. Hell, just last week, we had another riot over at the docks."

"And those folks in Europe? Pissed at us for getting involved in their mess. Ain't lookin' good for anyone."

The human moved on, skirting around the back of a blacksmith's shop—something you'd expect in a place like this, only it was out of place now. A relic of the past that coexisted with modern conveniences. Inside, a large man hammered at some gardening tools, sparks flying with each strike. Across the street, an old shoe repair shop had a "Going Out of Business" sign slapped across the door, dust collecting in the display windows.

He crouched behind a bench outside the mall, his eyes drawn to a group of high school girls chatting on the steps.

"Mom says we might have to move if Dad doesn't find work soon," one of them said, her voice tinged with anxiety. "They're talking about applying for food stamps… Maybe even hitting the soup kitchen next week. Can you believe it?"

Another girl shook her head. "My parents too. We're barely scraping by. I overheard them last night, talking about selling the house."

The human backed away, his mind whirling. The town felt like a memory—shattered, disjointed. He knew these streets, the shops, the conversations, but they were warped. Everything was breaking down, like the fabric of his reality was slowly unraveling. He continued down the alley, sticking to the shadows, ears attuned to the whispered conversations around him.

As he passed a candy store, the faint smell of sugar and caramel clung to the air, but the window was boarded up, a "Closed Indefinitely" sign nailed to the door. Across the street, the fishing shop that once sold bait and tackle was now empty, cobwebs forming in the corners of the windows.

The human glanced around, taking in the full scope of this broken version of Crabtree. Everything was falling apart—the economy, the community, the sense of normalcy. He crouched behind a truck as the sound of voices neared again, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to figure out what was happening. This wasn't just a nightmare, it was a distorted reflection of the world he knew—except something had gone terribly wrong.

The human crouched behind a row of bushes, the cold wind biting at his skin as he peered around the corner of a small, dilapidated house. His heart pounded in his chest as he moved with deliberate stealth, his eyes scanning the area. The town looked like the Crabtree he knew—familiar shops, homes, and cars—but everything had a strange, unsettling air about it.

He crept along the side of a Burger King, his eyes narrowing as he looked through the grimy windows. Inside, a few patrons sat in worn-down booths, the air foggy and the ground dirty, their conversations quiet and subdued. The air was thick with tension, and he could overhear fragments of their discussions about rising prices and unemployment.

Shifting to the edge of the sidewalk, he spotted a group of young deer girls kneeling down, their slender fingers picking through the cracks in the pavement. They giggled as they collected loose change, their wide eyes lighting up with every coin they found.

"Look, a quarter!" one of them exclaimed, holding up the small coin triumphantly.

"Maybe we can get some candy at the shop," another replied, though her tone was less hopeful.

The human's stomach tightened as he watched them. There was an innocence to their actions, but the reality behind it made his chest ache. They weren't playing—they were scavenging.

He moved on, slipping between a narrow alleyway and ducking behind a row of cars. As he crouched behind a rusted sedan, he overheard a conversation coming from the grocery store across the street. A tired-looking mother stood at the counter, rifling through her worn wallet.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice wavering. "This is all I've got. Can you add it to my tab?"

The store clerk, an older buck with graying fur, shook his head, his face tight with regret. "I'm really sorry, ma'am, but we can't take any more debt. You're the eleventh customer today asking for a tab, and we've got bills to pay, too. The electric's gone up 40 percent this month."

The mother's shoulders slumped, and she let out a sigh of defeat. "I just… I don't know what else to do."

The human felt a pang of guilt as he moved away, knowing he couldn't help. He kept low, weaving between parked cars and staying out of sight. The town was struggling, and everywhere he looked, it was evident.

Just ahead, a loud commotion drew his attention. A young girl was sprinting away from a bakery, a loaf of bread clutched tightly in her arms. Behind her, the bakery owner, an older man with a red apron, shouted after her.

"Hey, give that back, you piece of shit!" he yelled, running after her.

The girl didn't stop. "I'm sorry! I'll pay it back when I can, but the others are starving at school!"

The human's jaw tightened as he watched the girl disappear into the alleyways, the baker standing in the street, fists clenched in frustration.

He darted across the street, sticking to the shadows as he made his way toward a nearby convenience store. Inside, a father and his teenage daughter stood in front of the soda aisle, examining a bottle of cola with disgust.

"Wait, this thing has worms?" the father said, holding up the bottle to the flickering light.

"They all do," the daughter replied, looking at another bottle with a grimace. "The water's contaminated."

The human inched closer, straining to hear more.

"What the hell is wrong with this new supply?" the father muttered angrily. He moved over to the canned goods, popping open a can only to find maggots writhing inside. "Maggots! Every damn can's full of them!"

The daughter shook her head, her expression resigned. "It's probably because our suppliers changed. The old ones don't want to trade with us anymore, so we're stuck with this crap."

"This isn't trade," the father snapped, tossing the can back onto the shelf. "This is garbage!"

The human slipped away from the store, his mind racing with what he had overheard. The town wasn't just struggling—it was falling apart.

Further down the road, he came across a small furniture shop, its window display filled with cheap, flimsy-looking chairs and tables. Inside, a woman sat on a new chair, only for it to creak and collapse beneath her weight. She fell to the floor with a painful thud, yelping in surprise.

"What the hell is wrong with this chair?!" she shouted, rubbing her sore back.

The store employee, a flustered-looking buck, rushed over,

The flustered buck rushed over, his ears pinned back in embarrassment. "I-I'm so sorry, ma'am! It's... it's the new shipment. The quality's not what it used to be." He bent down, trying to help her up, but the woman waved him off, glaring.

"This town's falling apart! Even the furniture can't hold up," she spat, dusting herself off. "What's next? The roofs collapsing on our heads?"

The employee just stood there, helpless, as the woman stormed out, muttering about taking her business elsewhere, though it was clear there wasn't much "elsewhere" left.

The human kept moving, keeping his head low, trying to blend in as much as possible. His mind buzzed with fragments of conversations, with the cracks in the town's foundation growing more obvious by the minute. He couldn't quite grasp it all—why it felt so familiar yet distorted. The streets, the shops, the people—it was like seeing a snapshot of reality through a broken mirror.

As he passed a small corner shop, he noticed an older deer couple huddled together on a bench outside. They looked worn, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. The husband sighed deeply, holding a crumpled bill in his hand.

"They raised rent again," he muttered to his wife, his voice barely above a whisper. "Said if we can't pay by the end of the week, we're out."

His wife shook her head, her hands trembling as she held a bag of groceries, meager compared to what they used to bring home. "And go where?" she whispered, her eyes wet with tears. "There's nowhere left for us to go."

The human's chest tightened at the sight, and he turned his gaze away, not wanting to linger. He quickened his pace, his steps light but purposeful. The further he walked, the more the town seemed to bleed into something else. The shops were fading, the chatter of people growing quieter, replaced by a deeper, almost oppressive silence. as he stopped next to a dumpster and some abandoned, boarded up buildings.

But just as he was about to rise from his hiding spot, a voice broke the silence.

"Hey," a soft voice called out, breaking through the stillness. "Who's this new guy hiding here?"

The human's heart leaped into his throat. He froze, his body tensing as the voice called out again, closer this time.

"Hey! You, in the bushes. Who are you?" he heard someone jump from a dumpster, and their feet hit the ground softly.

He slowly turned his head, his breath catching in his chest as he saw a doe standing just a few feet away behind him, her large brown eyes wide with curiosity. She tilted her head, her ears flicking as she studied him.

The human's mind raced. How did she see me?

Before he could react, his foot slipped, and he tumbled forward, falling out of the bushes and onto the dirt path in front of her. The doe gasped, stepping back in surprise as her friends—another doe and a young buck—gathered around, their eyes wide with shock.

The human scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to explain, to apologize—but what came out wasn't his voice. It was something younger, lighter, and completely unfamiliar.

He froze, his hand flying to his throat in shock. What… what's wrong with my voice?

The doe stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Hay, are you here to loot stuff too?" she said softly, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean to startle you; oh, look, you even have all your tools ready," she pointed to his hatchet hanging from a chord on his side hip.

The human's mind was spinning. Something something, uhhh make conversation. He could feel it now—something familiar, social anxiety—he would actually have to talk to someone again, but wait, why was she afraid? The other deer girl was scared of him upon seeing him, and then he realized something; he looked at his hands, taking a good look, and they were different, OH NO! He mentally screamed.

The doe took a cautious step forward, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay there, Buck?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Look, we aren't going to rat you out if you come help us get some copper wire and we can even split, doesn't that sound fun?"